


Montauk House

by anacaoris



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Annabeth Chase Bashing, Asexual Character, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gaslighting, Non-Linear Narrative, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to SCP 4231, Sex-Repulsed Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacaoris/pseuds/anacaoris
Summary: "Even a worm will turn, what does that mean?""Even the weakest will fight back if you hurt them. You can only push even the kindest person so hard before they get their revenge."/Percy is so lucky to have Annabeth.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 126
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Montauk House

"Oh no no! No love magic for you!"

She rips the scarf away from Percy's hands before he can rub his face into the fabric. He whimpers at the loss and reaches for it, wanting to inhale its rich perfume again: something sweet and rich, like wild roses, but sometimes like mountain laurels. The fabric is of indescribable colors yet shimmers pink underneath, like the pale rose-colored pearls Percy once saw in a museum exhibition, but in his hands it felt warm as soft as a bunny.

Annabeth shoves the fabric in her pocket, now she smells like it too, and for a moment when Percy looks at her she's beautiful, haloed in a pink glow, and he stands there realizing that he loves her, that he'll love her, that he was always meant to love her, and he can't understand how he didn't realize it before. She says something else but he can't hear her voice, it sounds like they're underwater, his blood pumps in his ears, _Annabeth_ , she's all he can think of, his love for her clear in his face. Annabeth regards him with interest now, a strange glint in her eyes that has him snap back into his body. Percy feels uncomfortable with the cold scrutiny of her gaze. Suddenly she's Annabeth again, who marched her way into his quest and won't let go of her chance for glory.

He forgets the scarf with everything else that happens, and only remembers it when he sees it in the attic a year later. But he never forgets Annabeth, Her eyes, her smile, the way the smell of roses and mountain laurel clung to her princess curls like it was naturally a part of her, like she'd always been that way from day one.

* * *

When they were teenagers she first touched him.

They were in his bedroom at Mom's apartment and it was dark, and they laid side by side in bed listening to the ambience of New York at night because the TV was off and Mom and Paul were at the hospital. Percy was awake and pretending he wasn't, trying to keep his breathing slow and praying his heartbeat didn't give him away, but Annabeth knew, because Annabeth always knows, _I learned a long time ago: never bet against Annabeth_ . And despite Percy being quiet as a mouse and pretending to be asleep Annabeth did it, cold scarred hands down his basketball shorts and not a single word. And maybe she didn't know he was awake, or maybe she did and just pretended that he was asleep, and he owed it to her. He owed this to her, because whenever the conversation came up Percy shut it down, found something to keep him busy, or just rejected and it must suck, always wanting and always getting no as an answer, _what, are you fucking gay, Jackson?_ , and girls never asked but this was Annabeth who always took initiative and got what she wanted and she was his girlfriend —

(and as much as a few years down the line — after Mom finally convinces him and Chiron gives him the seal of approval and Percy Jackson and the Olympians is a published book series riding that B-list wave to try and reach Harry Potter stardom — the kids on Tumblr like to imagine him as their fictional paragon of progressiveness, he was just a kid raised in 2005, where _gay_ and _girl_ were insults)

— and Percy loves her, Annabeth who he fell into Tartarus with, **for** , Annabeth who was beside him on his very first quest and the reason for each one afterwards. Annabeth. _Be aroused. Get turned on. You have to like it, you’re lucky to even have her_ . Annabeth was pressed up against him, all blonde curls smelling like mountain laurel and gray eyes, her entire dry hand was down his pants now, and he felt frozen, disgusted. _Do it for her, please_ . She looked up at him, with the city lights haloing her, her eyes looking cold as gunmetal and there was something in the way she looked at Percy, mechanical, like he was a puzzle box she intended on solving, or opening up to figure out how he works, like he was a _thing_ at the end of her knifepoint, and she took his left hand that was stained with ink, and placed it under her shirt, touching the bare skin of her breast with her nipple pebbled under his palm, leaving a blue streak there —

(and _asexual_ wasn't part of mainstream vocabulary and _guys should always want this_ and he didn't have a word for the gut wrenching nausea that settled in his stomach when Annabeth dragged her blunt nails down his dick because she lacked finesse and _Annabeth &Percy _ had never had anyone but each other and this was the first time she did this too)

"Percy," she said, and he wondered if this was how Atlas truly felt when he shouldered the weight of the world: breathless, fear-frozen, small and terrified like a rat that knows that no matter where it runs it will always meet the walls of the metal cage and later on Percy would always remember this as the time he should have ran away, but he loved Annabeth, or at least at the time he believed he loved Annabeth, in that strange, fearful god-defined way that some heroes were drawn to the very same destruction they ran from.

She squeezed his limp penis, and he wrenched her hand out of his pants and when she left he locked himself in the bathroom and hyperventilated until his parents came back. Annabeth didn't talk to him for a week until Percy apologized, her favorite bagel sandwich from that kind semi-expensive cafe she liked and two movie tickets in hand.

* * *

###  **Dislocated shoulder (retrieved from orthoinfo.aaos.org,** **███/██/██)**

_The shoulder joint is the body's most mobile joint. It can turn in many directions, but this advantage also makes the shoulder an easy joint to dislocate._

_A partial dislocation (subluxation) means the head of the upper arm bone (humerus) is partially out of the socket (glenoid). A complete dislocation means it is all the way out of the socket. Both partial and complete dislocations cause pain and unsteadiness in the shoulder._

_Your doctor will place the ball of the upper arm bone (humerus) back into the joint socket. This process is called a closed reduction. Severe pain stops almost immediately once the shoulder joint is back in place._

_Your doctor may immobilize the shoulder in a sling or other device for several weeks following treatment. Plenty of early rest is needed. The sore area can be iced 3 to 4 times a day._

_After the pain and swelling go down, your doctor will prescribe rehabilitation exercises for you. These help restore the shoulder's range of motion and strengthen the muscles. Rehabilitation may also help prevent dislocation of the shoulder again in the future. Rehabilitation will begin with gentle muscle toning exercises. Later, weight training can be added._

_If shoulder dislocation becomes a recurrent problem, a brace can sometimes help. However, if therapy and bracing fail, surgery may be needed to repair or tighten the torn or stretched ligaments that help hold the joint in place, particularly in young athletes._

_At times, the recurrently dislocating shoulder can result in some bone damage to the humerus or shoulder socket. If your surgeon identifies some bone damage, he or she may recommend a bone transfer type of surgery._

Which is to say, Annabeth dislocated Percy's shoulder when she judo-flipped him back in New Rome. There's fracture lines and his skin beara a large bruise in brown, purple and yellow that takes up most of his shoulder and a little down his shoulder blade. Everyone gasped in horror and behind him the legion lifted their weapons to defend a fallen demigod, not that they would've gotten far because this was Annabeth Chase, architect of Olympus and daughter of Athena — _if you ever leave me again, I swear to all the gods_ — and not even the weight of the world on her shoulders could stop her from getting what was hers. Percy laughed through the pain and bruising and fracture lines because it was Annabeth, and he expected nothing less from her. They walked further into the city hand in hand and before long it's forgotten, a splash of water and _voila!_ , a useless memory, an unimportant thing in the face of Athena's impossible quest.

(He takes too long to deal with it though, and so the nerves and tendons never heal like they should, no matter how much ambrosia and nectar and long showers he takes, and when Percy mentions it once, off-handedly, in the way you would comment on the weather or some other mundane thing, _hey remember when you almost broke my shoulder back in New Rome_ , Annabeth laughs and says he's lying. And that's that.)

* * *

How do you boil a frog? You could place it in hot water, but once it feels the heat, the frog will jump out and save itself. So what do you do? You put a pot of cool water on the stove and then add the frog. Not sensing any danger, the frog will stay in place. _This is my home_ , it thinks, _it is the only thing I have ever known_ . _I am safe here_ , it croaks contentedly. Next, slowly heat the water. As the water warms, the frog relaxes. The warmth feels good. _Here is where I am meant to be_ , _in this warm water that protects me from everything else_ . As the water grows hotter and hotter, the frog has less and less energy. By the time the frog realizes it's in danger, the water boils, and it is too late to take action. It has neither the time nor the energy to do anything else. And so the frog perishes in the boiling water.

* * *

They get a little apartment just an hour or three away from camp but close enough to the city that Percy doesn't get homesick. He's keenly aware of every pipe in the building and at night the water sings to him and it takes all his strength not to make them burst and flood the entire floor, and for some reason the entire place smells like Annabeth's perfume, but it's theirs. The other demigods come to help them move furniture around the place and paint the walls in a muted hue of cobalt and a shade of gray that Annabeth swears is different from the _other three_ swatches of gray paint she'd shown him, though personally speaking Percy can't tell the difference between _Shiny Luster_ , _Loft Space_ , _Silver Shadow_ and _Double Click_ and he smiles when she rolls her eyes and calls him stupid in that tender voice of hers. When the paint dries Annabeth makes it her mission to decorate the place with souvenirs from their old quests and bits and pieces of things they both like _,_ because they're _Percy &Annabeth_ and this their home now, a testament to their love that goes deep into the foundations of their two-room apartment can't be destroyed unless the place is torn brick by brick. It takes forever for the bed to get there so they sleep on the couch and the beanbags Percy salvaged from when he lived with Mom and Annabeth ensures they christen their new home on the floor for three nights in a row.

Percy wakes up on the third night. The smell of roses stick to his skin and he can still feel the scratches Annabeth left on his back and his pelvis and thighs hurt and it takes him ten minutes to walk from their room to the bathroom. It has a sea-theme going on, shells and starfishes and a little effigy to Poseidon placed on top of the cabinets, ocean designs painted on the walls just a shade darker, so that you can't really see them unless the sun hits it the right way. Somehow there's even coral embedded on the edges of the shower and the curtain is white with gold trimming in a Greek design. He doesn't remember buying any of that and realizes it was Annabeth, always has been Annabeth, just like how she made his room on the Argo II the way she thought he would like it, just like how she's always known what's best for Percy. It's a miniature Poseidon cabin, and Percy falls there, bathed in blue light and feeling disconnected to his body, like it doesn't belong to him and his arms aren't his arms and his tongue is too heavy in his mouth and he stays there, kneeling on the cold floor telling himself _I am Percy Jackson_ , _I am Percy Jackson_ , until he can call the body he lives in his own.

* * *

"Hey, I was thinking…"

"A miracle, but go on."

"Would you have given me a chance if I wasn't the son of Poseidon? Like, would you have even been my friend if it wasn't because we went on that quest together, because of Luke and the bolt and my dad? Would you still be here?"

"..."

"What?"

"Don't be stupid, Seaweed Brain."

"Aw, come on, I'm serious. You wouldn't have even looked at me, would you?"

She doesn't answer. They don't talk about it again.

* * *

They're having a stroll through Paris — courtesy of Hermes and his last minute quest for them — talking about demigods who were from France, when Percy says, "You know, I never promised to take you out for a special dinner."

Annabeth looks like he stabbed her between the eyes. "Yes you did."

"No, I know I didn't. I thought I did, at first, but then I realized I didn't."

"Then you forgot."

And he doesn't like the way she says it, accusing but with something underneath, like Percy's a tiny child that doesn't understand a simple concept and she's patronizing him. "I didn't. I don't have that bad a memory, come on."

"So what, you're saying I'm lying?"

"No, I just —"

"Percy, you did tell me that. Don't you remember? You're still stuck on that."

"When did I even say it? Come on, remind me." And he's saying it lightly, almost jokingly though he desperately wants to know when he promised something like that to Annabeth despite their short time together. She focuses on him with steel eyes and glares.

"You think I'm making this up," and the hand holding his has the nails against his skin, the same way she wields her dagger, unforgiving and ready to kill, "Come on, say it Seaweed Brain. You do think I'm lying."

Annabeth's voice is higher in pitch now, irate and accusing and she's holding Percy in place and people are looking at them. They don't need to speak English to know the universal sign of _you're in deep shit_ , and now she has that look she gets when she wants to twist Percy's wrist until he apologizes, has him fall to his knees and it wouldn't be liable _now_ though he doesn't put it past her to try and —

(he remembers their dinner and how she laughed and the terrifying moment where he realizes that he doesn't know anything about Annabeth. Percy doesn't know her favorite color or food or what she likes to do outside of camp and the gifts borne to her from her mother. She's a stranger in a familiar guise and he has no idea what to even say to interest her that isn't about battle strategies or the structural integrity of the Eiffel Tower. And then there's another terrifying moment where Percy realizes that this is all there is to Annabeth, and that this is all that he will ever know about her and that all their conversation will be about battle strategies or the structural integrity of the Eiffel Tower because this is all she has ever known. Something in Percy's mind screams at him to run, that this isn't how it should be, but another voice, tinier, soft, reminds him that _Annabeth_ _loves him like no one else has or will_ and _he's so lucky to have her_ )

— he sighs deeply. "No." He shoves his free hand inside his pocket and lets the one in Annabeth's grip go slack. He can feel her nails dig deeper into his flesh, if he didn't have the curse of Achilles he would be bleeding by now. "You're right. I forgot. I'm sorry, Annabeth. I guess I'm just… tired with Hermes and all that. Come on, let's enjoy our anniversary."

She smiles. They walk down the Champs-Élysées hand in hand and the smile Percy gives to people when they make eye contact with him is only half-fake.

* * *

In his dreams Percy stands before the dark chasm of Tartarus and sees everyone he has loved or could have loved. Calypso caresses his cheek and falls back; Nico kisses him, deep and slow and breathtaking, before he melts in the shadows and is gone just as well. Reyna, Beckendorf, Rachel, Silena, Frank, all give their last goodbyes with gentle touches and soon disappear into the wide, yawning dark behind them. Even Luke is there, his hot breath making Percy gasp and shiver, his mouth grazing his neck and his fingers digging in the spot where Percy's Achilles heel was once, pulling him close. He's gone and his laughter is the only thing left behind.

Gravity shifts and suddenly he's falling to the floor, but he's no longer in Tartarus. It's camp, and he's twelve all over again and Annabeth is over him. She looks at Percy with her teeth bared in a smile. She smells sweet and heady. Intoxicating. It makes him want to close his eyes and bury his nose in her neck to breath her scent. Her eyes are the gray of a storm cloud and her hair is curled delicately, like a princess. He is wounded and scared and recently orphaned, and she's his destiny. Aphrodite is behind her in full regalia, her girdle cinched around her waist.

(Percy blinks and she's changed. Her teeth are stained red like she tore an animal apart with her mouth. Her eyes are wild, cold and detached. Her hair is tangled and matted but he can still tell the natural stringiness of her curls and her thin hair. This is the real Annabeth. She looks at him like he's a defenseless animal, a puzzle to solve, a blueprint she's made and has yet to perfect to her desires, and when he looks at his chest there is a gaping cavity where his chest should be.)

"I'm never letting you go." His voice doesn't come from his mouth but from the trees and the wind. A woman laughs somewhere. Aphrodite's girdle is now a scarf shimmering softly pink. The air smells like mountain laurels, like roses.

"I know. I'm never _letting_ you."

The ground opens up beneath them. The fall to Tartarus is slow, and Percy hopes he can reach the end soon.

* * *

"Where do you go when we do this?"

Annabeth is over him. Her bare breasts are free from any marks and her chest heaves with passion and the effort to keep riding Percy. He lays flat on the bed with only minimal interest in what's going on between his legs. Her hair falls down her shoulders and he can smell her, the strange perfume of her skin. Percy can feel something wet between his legs but he's disconnected again, **_this_ ** isn't part of him either, and it's easier that way, when he's floating in a haze rather than grounded by whatever she asks of him. It would be easier if she were more quiet, if she didn't insist in touching, in demanding of him.

"Why don't you touch me?"

And she sounds disgusted, like it's Percy's fault, like there's something wrong with him, but also self-pitying, like something's wrong with her and _oh if only I could fix it_ , _I need to fix it_ , _need to fix everything_ , so Percy grabs her hips as she keeps bouncing on him. He remembers boys sharing pictures in school and seeing porn for the first time and wondering if the people were being hurt, thinking that sex was base and gross and cringing at the thought, and his Mom laughing saying he'd change his mind about it when he was older. Annabeth's face is red like a sunburn as she shudders to a halt and finishes with a sound with a cat whose tail he stepped on. She looks at him, searching for something, scowling when she doesn't find it instead. She looks almost monstrous with her thin curls all messed up and her narrowed eyes.

"It's like you're not even attracted to me."

She goes to wash up. He lays there, listening to the water run as she cleans herself up. Percy slowly gains the feeling back in his limbs. This is his body, the old pains and the new ones. There's bite-marks on his thighs and scratches on his back and his crotch feels slimy and wet and there's a pearlescent mix on the patch where Annabeth ground up against when she came, sticky and warm when Percy gathers it up in his fingertips. The pipes under the sink rattle dangerously before he contains himself. He runs to the kitchen and opens up a window so he can throw up, but he's done it so many times the past few weeks that all he can do is dry heave instead, the taste of mountain laurel in his tongue.

* * *

At the salt water spring in Athens, Annabeth looks at Percy and Percy looks at Annabeth and he thinks back to being twelve and scared and afraid to die and thinking he'd killed his mother and killed his teacher, and knowing he was the forbidden son of a god and being sent to die on an impossible quest, and he remembers the fear of the camp's borders coming down and of his friend holding the weight of the world and just knowing that every passing second he was getting closer and closer to death. And he remembers Annabeth with her sharp words and her iron will and _I'm never going to make things easy for you_ , and punching his gut for a dance and watching Clarisse electrocute him and the pain on his shoulder from New Rome where his nerves and tendons still cry out in pain and her arm on his throat suffocating him and Aphrodite's wicked smile as she wraps something pink and smelling of flowers around him, because _I'm going to make your love life interesting_ is as unshakeable as any prophecy and Percy's life is nothing more than spun thread and prophecies that are older and bigger than him, that will outlive him.

"The rivalry ends here," and Percy holds Annabeth with trembling hands and kisses her. "I love you," and he hopes that it will be enough.

* * *

"You always do this. _Di immortales_ , I don't know why I deal with you."

"Annabeth all I said was —"

"No, no, don't walk away now. You _always_ do this! I knew you'd do it again!"

"Do what?"

"Gods, you're so stupid. Every time."

"But I haven't done anything!"

"Don't lie to me Percy. You're a coward. You always run away from things when you're scared."

It's mid November, and he’s just gotten back from Rachel's birthday-cum-Oracle-power-denouncing party and trying to defend himself from any accusations when Annabeth hits him. He can still taste the pomegranate juice he was drinking back in her apartment, mixed with the blood that fills his mouth. Annabeth is built for battle and has rough palms from fighting and the rare times she worked at the camp forge, before realizing that it was beneath her. Percy's cheek is red and shortly he'll have a black eye that he'll fix around 2 am with some water and a few mournful bites of ambrosia they keep in a cookie jar.

Annabeth is angry, because she's always angry nowadays, always disappointed at Percy, _you're so stupid_ , _you always act like this_ , _you're such a coward_ .

"She's my friend. I wasn't going to miss out on her birthday. Besides, I **told** you I was going."

"I thought you were joking. Really, Percy? Can't you see what she's trying to do? You guys don't talk in months and she suddenly stops being the Oracle and tells you about it? And then you left me here…"

"I invited you!" Percy's protest echoes in their bedroom, has Annabeth flinch and the water inside the pipes in their apartment sing in protest. "She told me I could bring you so I asked you, personally, and you said you “didn't want to go to some stupid birthday party”."

Annabeth falters for a moment. "You never invited me. Don't make things up. You've barely even talked to me all week. But you want to talk to _Rachel_ ."

"Yes I did! Just because you're still jealous of Rachel doesn't mean you can lie about stuff like this. Stop fucking making me look like I'm crazy —"

That's when she slaps him. She looks at Percy with the disappointment teachers had for him when he failed at simple reading lessons, like they didn't expect much from him at all and yet he's still let them down. Maybe it's the stress, maybe it's the way every time Annabeth talks to him it's to berate him, maybe it's the fact that he's said no for weeks now when she starts getting handsy and she's mad when he jumps away from her touch; or maybe it's just because they do this all the time, and he's tired of the accusations and walking on eggshells and how the water in the entire building sings to him when she blames him, but he slaps her back. Open-handed, leaving a bright red imprint on her cheek, which is back to its natural ruddy hue. Percy gapes in horror at his own hand — _oh gods, Annabeth I… I didn't mean it_ .

"Get out, Jackson."

* * *

Did you know that if you push something with enough force, it will bend and break right before your eyes?

A frog is dropped in cool water that slowly boils it alive. Now tell me, whose fault is it that the frog died: the frog's, for staying in place despite feeling the warmth grow, or the water's, for having lulled it into a sense of security only to turn into a deadly trap?

(What about the person who grabbed the frog in the first place?)

Enough with the stupid questions and stories told in third person. Tell me, Percy Jackson, how long can one hold back the tides before the tsunami comes and takes down everything with it? How much more can you stand before you take someone down with you?

* * *

"Why did you stay with Gabe?"

Sally Jackson passes her coffee mug from one hand to the other. The years have passed, there's no more quests for him left, with Poseidon's shiny new offspring having to do all the work for him, so it gives him more time to spend with his Mom. Estelle is out with Paul, getting her long coily hair braided so that it falls down her back and makes her feel like a princess, despite her being past the age to play pretend like that. Percy sits across from her on the small table, his own mug in hand, the red one with the chipped lip and scratches on the handle. He promised Annabeth he wouldn't be home late, and it's already 15 minutes past the time he'd promise to get back home.

Sally sips her coffee before saying, "I don't know."

Percy loves his mother, always will, but he's also grown up and part of growing up is realizing your heroes are flawed and as much as he adores Sally Jackson there's a part of him that will always be angry at her and what she did to them.

"He hurt us. Hurt me. You wanted to protect me and keep me with you, but all you did was push me away more at the end." Percy grips his mug tighter. "I don't even have to be here anymore, not if I didn't want to."

Sally flinches but nods. She knows what she's done and what it's reaped. But despite Percy's words he isn't here today to judge her. She goes to sip her coffee again but stops midway and places her mug down. Percy bounces his leg, but stops and hisses when the scar on his thigh, where Annabeth struck him during a fight, reopens. The Blofis-Jackson apartment smells like freshly brewed coffee and the rain-soaked earth in the planters and all sorts of spices for cooking — a welcome respite from the smells of his own home. He breathes in deeply and Annabeth slowly vanishes from his mind.

"I was young. Young, and stupid, and part of me was as afraid of Poseidon as it was in love with him. I've always known the gods, you can't fall for one without knowing what they are. And it was easier for me to love him and accept everything than be afraid and have him take what he wanted." Sally finishes the last of her coffee in one gulp. Her hands shake. Percy wants to hold them in his own but he's afraid she'll see the scars there that he still hasn't healed. "Gabe… he was something like that. I thought that I could handle him, that it would make everything easier, that you could be with me and be happy. I always knew what he was, but by the time I tried to run, I was too afraid.

"Don't do what I did. Someone who loves you, Percy, someone who really loves you will never hurt you, never make you feel afraid. Remember that."

Percy kisses his mother in the forehead and hugs her tight before he goes, though he wishes he could stay there forever. The smell of coffee lingers on his jacket until night, and he keeps it close, if only so he won't suffocate under the overbearing scent of Annabeth's perfume.

* * *

His English homework lies in a pile next to the couch and Percy furiously brainstorms his essay as he tries to avoid Annabeth's gaze. She's mad at him because he suddenly remembered he had work that was long overdue and had to take a raincheck on their movie date. She's thumbing through his copy of **Turning of the Screw** with only mild interest — Annabeth isn't one for literature. Once in a while she scoffs at the notes on the margins that are written half in Ancient Greek and half in English, and expresses surprise at how nice Percy's handwriting is.

For his part, Percy isn't really excited with the homework, but he's home alone with Annabeth and he doesn't know what to say to her. He's never felt like this before, but he realizes that he doesn't know what to say to her that isn't about camp or battles or monsters. It's almost like that's the only thing they talk about and now that they've exhausted all their options, it's weird. He's more comfortable looking at his writing than making small talk and having Annabeth call him a seaweed brain again.

"“Even a worm will turn”," she says with the same voice she uses to give orders. "What does that mean?"

Percy stops midway through his closing paragraph draft and chews on the end of his pen. It bursts and stains the corner of his mouth and his left hand with ink. "It's an expression, sort of. It means that even the weakest will fight back if you hurt them. You can only push even the kindest person so hard before they get their revenge." He wipes his mouth clean but stains his hand even more on the process. "It doesn't have a lot to do with the story, but I thought it fit while making notes. The governess is a monster, she's inappropriate with Miles, she practically turns into Quint at the end and kills the kid because he suddenly stopped acting the way she fantasized him and acted like an abused kid would. And Miles might have been sweet, but even someone sweet will only take so much. I like to think he got payback, somehow."

"Well, I don't think she was a monster. I think the ghosts made her crazy. She's a victim too."

Percy looks at Annabeth and can't help but laugh. "Then you're taking the story too literally."

He keeps laughing, but she's not laughing back. His joy dies slowly and he pretends to focus on a random sentence, but all the words begin to blur. Annabeth stands up and offers her hand to him.

"Come on, study break. Let's go to your room."

Percy follows her, drawn by the scent of her perfume and the fabric wrapped around the loops of her jeans like a belt, shimmering softly in the darkness.

* * *

"Tell me the truth!" Annabeth has him cornered against their closet. Her hands are clenched into tight fists that tremble at her sides. Percy doesn't have the energy to fight her: she punched his stomach and it hurts and his mouth is still bleeding from when she pushed him and he fell, smacking his face against the wall. It was an accident, it always was, that's just the way things were resolved at camp, with sword fights and threats, and Annabeth is used to doing things that way.

(Percy wonders how many times he's made excuses for her. The way she treats people when she feels threatened, the way she looks down on mortals like the blood that runs through her veins and the sinew of muscles and marrow of her bones isn't partly mundane. The way she will love someone and drop them the moment they no longer follow her idea of them.)

"I don't know what you want me to say." Percy has to breathe deeply, because he has never been more frustrated and terrified before in his life than he is right now. He starts feeling the disconnect in his body again — his arms aren't his own, his legs are heavy like lead — but forces himself to stay grounded. He won't disappear while Annabeth screams at him. The pipes in the building rattle and call out his name. Son of Poseidon, little godblood, you know what to do. "I don't even know whay you're talking about this time."

"That's because you never pay attention to me. Your brain is full of kelp and shit."

"You always do this Annabeth —," he shushes her before she can interrupt him and flinches at her furious glare. "I'm tired of it. Why are you mad at me? Because I'm talking to Rachel again, because I went out with my family and forgot our movie date? Because I'm tired of you touching me when I don't want it and hitting me because you can't talk to me like a person!"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, and you act like I'm lying. You make me seem like I'm crazy, Percy." Tears bud in her eyes, like she's the one hurt, like she's the one being yelled at and told she's losing it. "Just tell me the truth."

"Because you are, Annabeth. You never told me anything. I don't know what you want."

He only has a marginal idea of what she's mad about now. He went alone to New Rome for some days after Annabeth made it clear she didn't want to follow him, and now she's saying that Percy didn't tell her he was leaving, and he knows he did tell her, remembers it because they fought and Annabeth did then the same thing she's doing now, making him believe he didn't tell her things, that he's forgetting, making it hard to trust his mind because what if she's telling the truth, what if he is losing it?

( _Annabeth loves him like no one else has or will and he's so lucky to have her_ .

 _Someone who loves you will never hurt you_ .)

Annabeth pales at his words. "What did you just call me?"

Now the pipes rattle louder. He can hear people murmur all over the building. Something is growing, building, something carefully contained

"I knew you'd do this. You're a coward —"

" **DON'T YOU EVER CALL ME THAT AGAIN!** Don't you ever… I was a kid, and I was scared and I was meant to die, Annabeth. I was going to die and the world would've ended and all you cared about was if I looked at you or not."

"Percy —"

"You would have never even looked at me if it wasn't for the quest and I'm tired of having to walk on my hands in knees over a fucking glass field just to keep you happy. I don't even know how we ended up together when from day one all you've done is treat me like this." Percy can feel the earth shake beneath his feet. "You've never cared about anyone but yourself. But I'm not a coward, and I have never lied to you, and you can't just make shit up and blame me for defending myself when you try and make me think I'm crazy!"

He swings his arms wildly as he talks and makes a stack of folded clothes fall over and between them. Annabeth jumps, her head now covered in a purple shirt and a wide brimmed beach hat. They're divided by a sea of colorful fabrics and a crack on the floor from the miniature earthquake Percy caused.

She looks terrified. Percy's anger washes away, and he reaches out to comfort her. He never wanted this for them, definitely not for her. I'm so sorry, his mind begins, because _this is Annabeth and he_ — I never wanted this to happen — _the two of them_ — I'm just tired and scared — _Percy &Annabeth _ — "Annabeth, I…"

But she's not looking at him. Her gaze is firmly planted on a bundle of fabric that lies before his feet. It's wrapped in newspaper and twine but he can see it through a gap. Percy reaches down to grab it before she can protest, and opens it up. The smell of mountain laurels and roses hits.

It's a scarf of indescribable colors, yet shimmering a pale pink underneath, warm as soft in his hands.

"Percy."

Percy smiles.

The pipes in the building explode.


End file.
